


whalebone, rigged to stem the floods

by AstronautSquid



Series: tumblr prompts [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Body Worship, Class Differences, Corsetry, F/M, Gender Roles, Miranda Barlow Appreciation, Power Dynamics, Pre-OT3, Pre-Slash, Tumblr Prompt, james mcgraw and the women in his life will be my undoing, mentions of James Flint/Thomas Hamilton, more water imagery than you can shake a duck at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 10:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11251077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstronautSquid/pseuds/AstronautSquid
Summary: James had learnt how to unlace a woman's stays, and how to help put them back on.The fine material of the cords had snagged on his callouses, but they were after all just delicate ropes, and ropes he knew. The knots came together between his fingers under Miranda's direction and adjusting the tension of the laces running through the eyelets felt surprisingly familiar, the same way he could almost feel in his own body the tension of a ship's rigging.It was the first time during their affair that James had felt truly in control of the situation at hand.





	whalebone, rigged to stem the floods

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _could u do james & miranda + the sound of dripping water for the prompt thing?? am i doing this right??_
> 
> dear anon, bless your fucking heart, you did this SO RIGHT. i had a fucking field day. also, i hope you're ok with porn, flowery prose and a bit of underlying privilege/gender oppression examination, because that's what you're getting. 
> 
> please forgive historical inaccuracies re: corsetry. i have no excuses, i just wanted to write fun, introspective porn.

Curiously enough, it was the bell-like ring of a single drop of water that made James turn from the window.

The rain had only just stopped a few moments ago, yet the clouds were already breaking up and admitting isolated rays of light into the shadowed sky beneath. All of nature was awash and moving, dripping and sparkling all over.

Spread out before James was the Hamiltons' summer estate, a glimpse of Paradise itself outside the window. The couple had asked him along on a week-long sojourn to the countryside, so that they could enjoy some time away from London without Thomas sacrificing his progressing work regarding the Nassau issue.

Two days into their stay, Thomas had been recalled to the city on urgent business, and asked James to remain and keep his wife company until his return, which would hopefully not be far off. There had been a mischievous glint in his eye as he said it, and James could still not think of that moment without his insides turning to ooze.

Miranda had been regretful to see her husband leave, but delighted to have James available all day now.

Upon the start of their affair, what had overwhelmed James the most was, curiously enough, not the fact that Miranda was a woman.

Admittedly, he had never slept with one before, but it had always been a thing he had supposed might happen to him sooner or later, were his life to lead him further up the ranks and demand his being married in order to further cement his social standing. Though James preferred the company of men, a woman had always seemed a pre-ordained part of his future; if presumably under different circumstances.

No, the truly remarkable aspect to it all was the lushness of the experience.

Miranda was the kind of woman James could never have hoped to entice, given his low birth. True, it was no secret that there were high-born ladies whose tastes ranged towards the uncouth, the rough and coarse. They thrilled at the scandal of it, the sick fascination with men of his class, furtive desires to taste the shameful fruit before returning to the perfumed ponces of their own circles.

But it wasn't quite like that. Given her reactions whenever James rallied the courage to take the reins from her capable hands, Miranda did enjoy the rougher treatment, but he never felt less respected for it. She would bid him to fuck her raucously and then discuss poetry or philosophy or, sending his head spinning everytime, her husband, as they lay sated and warm after. There was never a question that she enjoyed his mind as much as his body, and considered it just as finely honed and delightful.

Bedding a woman like Miranda or, heaven help him, _wooing_ her, came with all the accompaniments one might expect.

Sheets so fine he had to put his face to them to make out the pattern of the weave. Clothes and draperies dyed colours so rich he thought he could taste them. More forks for one meal than he knew what to do with. Eating in bed, indulgent cuts of meat and spices he had never known before, bursting on his tongue. Fires he did not have to stoke himself. _Sleeping in._

James had learnt how to unlace a woman's stays, and how to help put them back on.

The fine material of the cords had snagged on his callouses, but they were after all just delicate ropes, and ropes he knew. The knots came together between his fingers under Miranda's direction and adjusting the tension of the laces running through the eyelets felt surprisingly familiar, the same way he could almost feel in his own body the tension of a ship's rigging.

It was the first time during their affair that James had felt truly in control of the situation at hand.

He had ended up bending Miranda forward over her vanity table after she had just put on her skirts, the separate bodice forgotten on the floor. One hand he tangled in the lengths of her stays' laces while the other rucked up her skirts with Miranda's enthusiastic help. God, the sheer amount of _fabric_ , all of it seafoam-soft and lustrous and crested with a froth of lace, parting for him to reach flesh as smooth and pale as a pearl, flesh that itself parted pink and swollen around him.

James had fucked her holding desperately onto his knots in her laces, the other hand feeling the whalebone enforcements that encased her like a second ribcage. He had watched in the mirror of her vanity how Miranda's breasts fell out of her half-loose stays and moved so responsively with every thrust. A man's chest, by comparison, remained resolutely firm no matter the ferocity of their coupling, but everything about Miranda was in amorous flux; from her swaying breasts to her spilling hair to the pearls dripping from her ears to the billowing swells of her skirts.

In the heat of the moment he could not for the life of him figure out how to maneuver his hand through the currents of her underskirts to that sunken pearl nestled at the apex of her cunt; but Miranda had simply caught his eye in the mirror and laughed delightedly at his fumbling, and moved his hand back to her waist. He had felt the press of whalebone again, between them.

Before long James had breached into that place where his mind, curiously, was entirely gone and yet entirely present in the sensation of his release at the same time. How utterly lonely and singularly together he had felt.

He had turned Miranda around to lift her onto the vanity and drown himself in that ocean of fabric between her legs and, making quick work of her peaking arousal, he had taken care not to lick inside of her for once. Neither the seasalt sweat taste of her nor of himself held much disgust for James. He had simply liked the thought of his seed inside her, leaving its tangible mark on the fine-spun linen of her drawers later. Held between her thighs he could not tell what burnt hotter, her skin or his, for he had never been inclined towards such thoughts before.

Miranda had carded her fingers through his hair thoughtfully, after.

"Why, if only I had known how women's fineries excited you," she had remarked. "For you to unlace your restraint, it seems necessary that mine be all done up."

James had felt the heat in his cheeks, not all of it left-over from their exertions.

"Aren't they all to entice men, after all?" he had returned. "At least that's how I've heard it said to me. That with your finery and dainty waists and chests on display, women seek to ensorcel men."

Miranda had gone quiet for a moment before replying.

"I think," she had said slowly, "I think that if there were only women in the world, we should not force ourselves to be laced up at all."

And James had felt the blood throbbing in his fingers where his grip on the laces had cut off the flow of it before. He had thought back to feeling the ferocity of his own thrusts in the tightening of the cords around his hand, Miranda caught inbetween. He realised in hindsight that she had been unable to touch herself, the layers of her own skirts in the way.

He had not known what to say, and stayed silent, and pressed an apologetic kiss to her hand.

That had been two weeks ago, and James still found his mind wandering back to that sudden shock of control when had stared at his own hands working Miranda's laces.

This morning, James had woken from a rather unseemly dream involving Thomas Hamilton, and would have shamefully willed the stiffness in his breeches away, had not the door opened to admit Miranda. She had been dressed, and yet _dressed_ hardly seemed fit a word to describe her, in clinging drawers and stays that were quite certainly not meant to be hidden beneath a bodice, and a lace-trimmed robe flowing over her shoulders like a flood that sprang from her shoulders and cascaded down her body.

"I can't believe you insisted on sleeping in our separate chambers," Miranda had said. "So I assumed, given how you are suddenly all done-up again, maybe I should let you do some unlacing. Or not," Miranda had added, obviously thinking of the last time her undergarments had featured so strongly into their sexual exploits.

She had kept on only the stays.

It had been good. Excellent, in fact, and the torrential summer rain outside had only heightened the experience, drowning out all errant thought.

When they were done, James had noticed the rain had stopped, and moved to the window to see, while Miranda merely sighed that she wanted to stay put for another moment or so, batting away his hands when he had attempted to at least free her from her lacings.

He didn't hear the creak of the mattress or the rustle of the bedding or the footsteps. It was that single drop of water that made James turn away from the window.

Miranda had finally peeled herself out of her stays, which had left harsh marks on her skin without a shift underneath. The sound of water had come from the cloth she had dipped into the washing basin on the dresser, applying the cloth to her dewy throat, whence rivulets of water spilled down her skin.

James saw her wince when the droplets reached the red streaks.

He bundled Miranda up in his own cloak and only put on the most necessary of layers himself before gathering her up in his arms and ignoring her surprised exclamations and laughter as he carried her outside.

The summer residence was only sparsely staffed, and Miranda had assured him multiple times of the discretion of her servants. James certainly hoped it was true, and he saw no one as he made his way to the nearby lake, leaves covered all over in droplets that refracted the light like so many diamonds. All the green world around them seemed fresh sprung from creation, washed clear of summer heat and dust.

"What is this all about?" Miranda asked, not for the first time, as James carefully set her down with her feet in the clean rain-soaked grass.

"Takes too long to have a bath drawn," he replied simply and divested himself of his clothes. He caught Miranda's eye to ask for permission before sliding the cloak off her shoulders.

The narrow strip between the lawn and the water's edge was muddy as might be expected, but James lifted Miranda across.

"James," she protested with a laugh. "James, we are walking into a lake. My feet would have been washed clean with the next step."

James shook his head wordlessly and began to pour handfuls of water over the nape of her neck, letting it course down her body as it wanted, and made certain to soothe the fading red marks where the whalebone had pressed into Miranda's skin. She couldn't suppress a relieved moan at the feeling and James felt a sudden surge of fondness and protectiveness.

The water where they stood barely reached past his shins, and he went down on one knee, pulling Miranda to sit sideways on his thigh, hovering just above the waterline.

"I don't know what's suddenly come over you," Miranda said as she bent to kiss him. "But I'll have you know that I enjoy it immensely."

James' lips twitched in a distracted smile. Distracted by the sight she made, perched on his thigh with an arm around his shoulder, glittering trails of water striating her skin. Distracted in particular by a sparkling droplet clinging to the point of her breast, heavy and round both.

He leant in to take it into his mouth.

Miranda gasped in delight and buried a hand in his hair.

For another few minutes, she allowed James to hold her like that. He hoped she was unaware of the things he thought about, of the visions of Venus that entered his mind as his fingers entered her body, for certainly there could be no woman more suited to inspire thoughts of that foam-born goddess. He prayed Miranda would never find out these hopeless, ridiculous fancies he indulged in the privacy of his mind.

After she had gasped her release into his ear, James wiped his fingers on his own leg that was already slick where she sat. It did not seem prudent or comfortable to do anything more of the sort while in the lake, despite James' undeniable arousal. They instead spent a pleasant half hour drifting in the water, with Miranda loudly admiring James' powerful stroke as he took up her challenge to swim from shore to the other.

When he returned to his starting point, he saw that Miranda had gotten out of the water, still entirely naked - and that she was not alone.

"As always, you are entirely right, dear wife," Thomas remarked appreciatively as he waved at James in greeting. "I can most certainly picture our dear lieutenant outswimming a tempest like that, or diving after a drowning superior officer, or any such kind of heroic deed. You look quite the Poseidon, James," he added with his voice raised to carry better across the water, even though James had been able to hear him already. "Although I suppose a beard would complete the picture."

James knew he should probably feel exposed, and he did, he _did_ , but there was such blunt admiration in Thomas' voice, and Miranda, bathed clean but for her muddy feet, was looking so proud of him, so pleased to show him off, that he felt dangerously emboldened.

"And what about you, my lord?" he shouted back and saw Thomas' brow twitch at the title. "Have you ever had to challenge water deeper than your bathtub?"

And Thomas opened his mouth in indignation, but nothing came out save for a strangled noise as Miranda pushed him, fully clothed, into the water.

There should have been embarrassment or discomfort or care for propriety, James thought. But he was too pleased knowing the two people he loved best to be in _his_ element for once. And while he kept a respectful distance from Thomas, with Thomas' eyes carefully above James' shoulders the whole time, there was no need for such restraint with Miranda.

She moved freely between the two of them, James naked as the day he was born and Thomas still in his soaked shirtsleeves; and as she carried carefree, languid kisses back and forth she was unbound, the red marks gone, soothed away by the cool water.

They did not leave the lake until the summer rains returned.

James laughed as he ran, following the flashing pink soles of Miranda's bare feet in the emerald-sweet grass.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come scream about black sails with me [on tumblr](http://squid-inspiration.tumblr.com/)!


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